


Git It

by Riachinko



Category: Family Guy (Cartoon)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 16:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16836571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: Just some weird tentacle porn ¯\_(ツ)_/¯





	Git It

There isn’t anything out of the ordinary that day when Brian checks in on Stewie in his lab. In fact, he's been in there twenty minutes already without either of them mentioning the potted plant Stewie has on the ground by the lab's entrance. It isn't until Brian takes his eyes off of the kid - nervous to watch his friend soldering carelessly away at a metal switch and circuit board - that he witnesses the plant devour a house fly.

He laughs, eyes wide with surprise, and points dumbly at the thing. “Stewie did you see that?”

The kid turns, humming absently in reply. “See what?”

“Your plant just caught a fly--! You have a fly problem in here?”

Stewie sets his project to the side in lieu of joining Brian, who's moved to sit on the floor in front of the plant. “I've been keeping some insects in here until I figure out what it prefers to eat.”

Together they watch it move its would-be mandibles back and forth until the fly has disappeared and the plant's mouth begins to widen hungrily once again.

“It's pretty cool. What is it?”

“I'm not sure,” Stewie purses his lips and taps his index finger to them. “Originally it was a simple fly trap, but I've been feeding it a concoction of tetrodotoxin, ginseng and testosterone. And now, well,” he gestures up and down at the thing, “it's a bit like Audrey II, isn't it?”

It is a little bit like that: a fly trap with a mouthful of tiny barbs like those from the stem of a rose. It looks leafy and healthy and green, with pinkish bulbs yet to bloom from its roots. It almost looks too big for the pot that Stewie has it growing out of, with those very roots - long and twisted - wrapped around the sides like talons.

Stewie reaches a finger out to gently stroke the top of the plant's head, smiling proudly as he does so. It's a funny gesture - treating the plant like it was a pet - but Brian feels compelled to join in, reaching a digit slowly out over the plant--

“ _Ow_!!”

Brian recoils, then, toppling back slightly and clutching his paw to his chest. “Your mutant plant bit me!”

Stewie flops to the dog's side to assess the damage done, but in the end it doesn't seem any worse than a pin prick - Brian is bleeding, sure, but marginally so. The plant bobs its head softly, as though it’s breathing - panting - stretching subtly forward to open its wanting mouth towards the dog.

“I think it likes you,” Stewie grins wide, prompting Brian to chuckle unsuredly.

“Well…just don't let it get out of hand,” he says, sucking the pain from his fingertip. “If people start going missing, I’ll know who's to blame.”

“Don't worry Bri,” Stewie says jovially, moving to stand and picking up the potted plant in one swift motion. He pulls a lever to the right of the room's heavy steel door, and leads his friend outside of the lab. “I'm not about to let some chemically mutated plant get the best of me. It runs on old fashioned TLC and plant food, not blood.”

Once the lab is hidden away and Stewie’s room back to normal, the toddler sets the pot down in the middle of the orange plastic table by his window. He rests his fists on his hips and admires his work. “I think I’ll call it Brian II.”

Brian snorts, but smiles just the same. “No complaints here.”

Stewie looks smug, eyes sly as he stands and unsnaps his overalls in preparation for bedtime; waits for Brian to throw his sleeper across the room to him.

“Yeah, I didn't think you'd mind.”

  
  


Brian finds himself conscious randomly in the middle of the night. It isn’t exactly uncharacteristic of him, having trouble sleeping here and there unfortunately couldn’t be more normal. What is different, however, is that although his eyes are still closed, Brian is distinctly aware of a green glow beyond his eyelids.

His ears perk up.

He feels uncomfortable.

His canine instincts kick in when he begins to feel the skin tingling at the back of his neck, as though every hair in every follicle is on end, and when he opens his eyes, he can barely believe he isn’t dreaming.

He _isn’t_ dreaming, right?

Stewie’s plant has roots running across the expanse of the table, nearly covering it completely and wrapping down the table’s legs and across the carpet. It hasn’t quite reached Stewie’s crib yet - hasn’t reached where Brian’s been sleeping on the floor at the foot of it - but those roots are twitching and writhing and are definitely moving closer.

The green glow he’d been seeing is coming from the head of the thing - the part that had bitten him just several hours earlier. His finger throbs as he remembers.

“Oh, come on,” Brian grunts.

His heart rate grows faster, and the situation _is_ alarming to be sure, but he’s been through enough shit with Stewie to know that everything’s going to be alright. His first thought is to find something to cut the roots that seem a lot more lively with each passing second; grab something to stab Brian II to death.

At first thought, it’s hard to believe there isn’t anything in sight: no knife or axe or guns - the only pair of scissors he sees are child-proof and blunt as all hell. But no, he’s being irrational - Stewie wouldn’t just leave his weaponry laying about, so his next thought is to rummage through the kid’s toy chest, to pull that lever that he knows will give him access to all kinds of wicked tools that’ll put this plant in its place.

There’s an itching at his feet as he moves, though, and he doesn’t make it far before he’s stopping to look down in awe and horror as the roots - gnarled and black and ten times longer than before - are slithering their way around his ankles. Those unbloomed bulbs seem to have blossomed in the moonlight, with tiny, spiny mouths suckling and smacking at his fur like a scene from an 80s horror movie.

Then they’re dragging him back towards the table, tripping him, and Brian falls unceremoniously to his stomach, cracking his head on the corner of the toy chest with a delirious groan.

He manages to mutter part of Stewie’s name before unconsciousness pulls him under.

  
  
  


Brian wakes to an emerald glow more brilliant and prevalent than before.

Stewie is still asleep, and Brian is angry at him for it. He tries to growl out the kid’s name, but is unable to do so - he can barely see the blurred black of a root wrapped around his muzzle, but he can sure feel it. It itches; makes him feel like he’s burning up and he just needs to scratch scratch _scratch_ \--

As the dizziness in his head dissipates, Brian becomes more acutely aware of that same tingling, burning sensation all over his body. He can’t move his wrists, or his legs.

His collar feels tighter than usual.

He feels weightless regardless of his bindings, noticing only moments later that the reason for this weightlessness is because he’s being held up close to the ceiling - suffocatingly close. He whimpers softly and tells himself everything’s going to work out; convinces himself for a minute that Stewie’s had this planned the entire time.

It would make sense - when Brian II’s roots start wriggling their way up Brian’s leg, sticky and itchy and somehow still _growing_ \-- it would make sense that the little freak had had this planned from the get-go.

The roots press against him, rubbing against his groin, scratching with barbs and aggressively suckling at him. He almost thinks it just might _be_ Stewie down there, and snaps out of his haze immediately at the thought, craning his neck to look - relieved when he finds it isn’t the kid. Just an onslaught of viney roots that are growing thicker, stickier; are resembling tentacles more and more every time he looks.

His entire body tenses.

He tries to shout for help, but the demon plant takes the opportunity to slither its way past Brian’s teeth and slip inside of him.

It seems futile when he thrashes about, but still he tries, bucking viciously into the touch and back in an attempt to shake the thing off of him. Although his twisting and turning is ineffective, it does allow for Brian to see that more of the little bulbs have opened - fang-like barbs biting into him all over, and for the first time he’s panicking so horribly that he’s afraid of having a heart attack.

The plant’s sting fades quickly, though, and then all he can feel is that familiar itch and burn spreading through his body like a drug.

And he’s so, so weak.

To his horror, that pressure between his legs and at his thighs is starting to feel warm and beautiful. It teases him; makes a praying dog out of him. He knows he should be trying to scream, and he does try half-heartedly to kick the tentacles away, but ultimately he can’t put in the effort to fight it.

The plant knows just where to touch him: between his ears, his shoulders--

It should be - it _is_ \- frightening, but it feels fucking fantastic and he never wants it to end.

He lets his eyes fall closed as his brain scrambles to focus on every movement - how the roots are spreading his legs apart farther and farther, gaining more and more access to the erection they’ve wrought from him. The slithering between his thighs and up around his stomach has his left leg twitching, and he feels like the best boy.

“--an?”

The room is so, so hot; he’s sweaty as fuck. It feels like he’s drowning, so enveloped by glorious, wet heat. He even imagines he can hear a voice, but it’s so far away at the water’s surface...

“Brian?”

The dog whimpers and drools around the invasive roots sliding over his tongue; he thrashes helplessly, and when he opens his eyes for a split second to let his pupils roll to the back of his head, he can see a vision of Stewie, standing in his crib, just staring.

His entire body throbs, his cock twitches and he bucks ruthlessly, contorting against his bindings to increase whatever friction he can manage.

When he looks again, Stewie is gone - a weird fever dream, perhaps.

Then suddenly there’s a familiar mechanical noise that brings Brian to, and the entrance of Stewie’s lab is revealed before him. He still can’t see Stewie down there on the ground, but he has a moment of clarity where he knows the kid must be coming to his aid.

But does he even want to be helped at this point?

God, he’s so close; the tentacles have him wrapped tight, squeezing his cock tighter than even his own hand ever had. There’s a coil in his stomach, and he arches his back; wants to open his mouth and cry out, but all he’s capable of is a stifled whine, over and over as the plant traces the tip of his cock and makes him see starbursts.

There’s a bit of a crash and the sliding of a metal door to his left, and when Brian’s eyes flit downwards, Stewie’s there, bathed in green, mouth open and dry. The kid’s eyes are wide and glassy, shining like gems amidst a blurry black hellscape.

Stewie watches, and Brian watches him back.

Brian’s cheeks heat up - much hotter than the rest of his body, although he doesn’t know how that can be possible. Under normal circumstances, if Brian had been caught like his, he’d be downright mortified. Guilty, angry. But although he closes his eyes tight and turns his head, he’s unashamed and still horny as hell.

He hopes Stewie gets a good enough eyeful to last him a lifetime.

It’s then that he can feel more pressure at his neck. A new tentacle, he’s decided, and not his collar getting tighter after all. He welcomes it there; it presses against his throat deliciously, and he whines, even as he chokes on his own saliva and heaves forward involuntarily.

He might die, but even death would feel amazing.

His breath comes heavy and staggered through his nose as he’s choked - as finally the mouth of the bulb is devouring his cock whole, pressing tightly around him with the most ungodly suction he’s ever felt.

He whines, far too loudly.

He rolls his hips recklessly into the tentacle’s mouth.

He _knows_ he’s losing his mind when he prays for more.

He gives in completely.

And then he’s hurtled to the ground in an instant.

Brian’s head is absolutely spinning - throbbing with the first pain he’s felt since the plant took him over. He finds himself on the floor, falling with a dull thud, though the mess of roots around him break his fall. Time loses meaning for him as he lays there quivering, feeling the roots slowly leaving him, one by wicked one.

When he looks, Stewie is hacking away at them with a duel-wielded machete and combat knife combo.

The slaughter can’t have taken long; soon Stewie stands panting over his dog in triumph, Brian II withered and scattered in a million pieces across the tyke’s bedroom. His cheeks are dirty and wet with blood; fingers dark with soil.

“...What did you do to my plant?” he asks. There’s a thin air of humour about it, but mostly the kid just sounds distant and shaken.

Brian claws the dead root off from around his mouth and nose and draws in a deep breath that stings through his nostrils.

This isn’t right.

He feels empty; so wrong without the unforgiving, relentless pressure of the plant creature against his body.

“...Earth to Brian?”

Stewie’s beginning to worry, it’s written all over his face. Brian looks the kid up and down: those tiny deft fingers flexing around the handles of his weapons anxiously; his tongue darting across closed, chapped lips.

“Th-thanks,” the dog says flatly.

His mind is a whirlwind of abominable thoughts; his chest heaves, panting while he process the onslaught of thoughts that are so--

So unlike him.

He’s still so aroused - so hard - shaking and practically hyperventilating with need. Was it even because of the plant to begin with? Maybe he’s just always been this way. A horny mutt, desperate for a fuck--

“A-are you okay?” Stewie’s gnawing on his lower lip now; reaching out to run a hand over Brian’s shoulder.

He’s so desperate; feels like a bitch in heat when he whines and keens into that gentle touch.

He closes his eyes in a shudder and he can picture Stewie on his knees, touching him the way the tentacles had. Suckling at him the way they had. Tumbling and fumbling around, touching Brian all over; moving lithely and scratching every itch.

Making his blood boil.

He must look crazy, eyes glazed and staring wildly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards at every invasive thought of just... _violating_ Stewie like Stewie’s stupid plant had violated him.

“Let’s go to bed,” Stewie says softly. “Everything’ll be better in the morning.” The kid doesn’t sound like he believes himself, and neither does Brian, but he lets him take him by the paw and lead them both into the crib. “We’ll, uh,” Stewie stops to chuckle awkwardly, coughing lightly. “We’ll have to um, take care of _that_.”

There’s no question that the kid is referring to the dog’s hard-on. Invitation or not, it sends a bolt of lighting through Brian; lust and release the only things of any consequence left in his world.

“I’m going to fucking wreck you,” he says.

“Oookay…” Stewie smirks, chuckling under his breath. His brow quirks questioningly as he continues snidely, “Whatever you say, sport--”

But Brian leaves him with little time to act cocky, pushing the kid back onto the mattress and sinking his teeth shallowly into his neck. Stewie gasps and clutches beneath him at his tangled duvet, white-knuckled fists balled at his sides. The dog can feel Stewie’s pounding heartbeat against his chest; throbbing like his weary, poisoned brain and the organ between his legs.

Stewie’s mouth hangs open in a soundless cry through the bite, eyes wide and worried but full of desire that rivals Brian’s own. No question is asked between them, but the kid nods furiously - the only movement he’s capable of, trapped beneath his dog’s body - begging for it.

Brian strips him without looking, head buried in the crux of Stewie’s neck, breathing hard through his stuffed up nose; gasping hot breath against Stewie’s jaw and licking at the sweat dripping down it. He plunges inside the second the kid’s naked - Stewie wringgling beneath him, desperate to clasp his hands over his mouth to stifle his scream.

Every quiver and contraction has Brian cursing under his breath, _fuck_ , it’s just _so good_. He throws his head back; nearly howls out in feral pleasure, but is cognizant enough to control himself just that much.

He digs the nails of his feet into the mattress - he wants to ruin the kid completely.

He wants the kid to ruin him.

He fucks into the vessel beneath him as recklessly as he had when he was tangled up by the ceiling, engulfed by tentacle creatures. And as far as he’s concerned Stewie owes him this - finishing what his own hideous sentient plant had started. Who else could give him such pleasure and take it away?

He finds himself praying again that this never ends, too content to stay here like this, inside of a warm, willing, _tight_ body--

“God--”

Stewie chirps throatily with every thrust, hands still locked over his mouth; eyes heavy-lidded and periodically rolling back. He moans around soft sobs - music to Brian’s ears.

“God, _Stewie_ \--” he pants, nearing closer and closer to orgasm; his rapid in-out rhythm seemingly driving the kid beneath him crazy and making him warm. So warm. The kid’s heels dig into Brian’s flanks - kick him when he moves too roughly, but Brian doesn’t let up.

Tiny fingers finally move to grapple at Brian’s arms; the boy’s limbs cling to him, wrap around him familiarly like the tentacles had, but it isn’t enough.

“Please-- Please, St-- Stewie, fuck--” Brian falls over the kid, his forehead damp with sweat.

He holds Stewie firmly against the mattress, can feel Stewie writhing helplessly there, taking Brian’s cock like he was made for it.

“ _Fuck_ \--”

The humidity in the room makes him feel like he’s drowning yet again, clouding his brain, corrupting him as he pushes uncontrollably into the boy past his knot, and Stewie cries out in protest from above the water’s surface. His small body clenches and thrashes and claws at Brian’s arms with sharp nails, but all the dog can hear are cries of pleasure.

A low, gurgling moan of Brian’s name.

And then, Brian’s gut is twisting, and he’s overcome with a nameless feeling of pure bliss, spilling into the boy; Stewie squeezing around him like he needs it, wrapped around him tight, tight, tight-- He comes more than he thinks he ever has - it feels like an eternity - jaw dropped and gasping against Stewie’s sweat-slick skin. This alien pleasure taking him over, setting him on fire.

He feels perfect.

He feels disgusting.

Stewie says nothing beneath him, and as Brian’s frazzled mind begins to knit itself back together, he idly hopes that the kid is okay. They won’t be able to move for a while.

Brian sighs.

He can’t tell when his world got so dark.

He pulls away, pushing himself up off the mattress to get a better look at his poor, misused friend. There should be moonlight enough to see, but his vision is blurry and he’s starting to see small bursts of light in his peripherals.

Then Stewie is laughing softly, sending small jolts through Brian’s body where they stay connected.

He feels dizzy and sick, so Brian closes his eyes, then - not such a strange feeling, he thinks, considering this entire thing never should have happened. Of course guilt is setting in. He feels almost as uncomfortable as he had originally, when he’d just woken up in the middle of the night.

He inhales.

Shivers trickle down his spine as he realizes - his eyes still shut tight - that the bursts of light in his vision have transformed into a green glow. He peeks slowly, with caution, and finally he can see Stewie beneath him - toothy grin plastered on his face from ear to ear. His eyes are glowing brilliantly green - like Brian II had been not long ago.

And Brian can feel himself choking, Stewie reaching up and grabbing at his collar, holding him with an iron grip and pulling him close.

The kid licks his lips, licks against Brian’s with a snake-like tongue, humming; needy and determined.

“S-Stewie?” is all Brain can muster.

He tries to pull away, eager to make a run for it, but they’re tied, and he doesn’t have the strength to rip Stewie’s roots off of him. Those tiny hands are digging into him and pulling him closer and closer and closer until--

They kiss.

It feels a hundred times better having Stewie inside of his mouth than those awful, sticky vines, although he tastes just as poisonous. Stewie moans into him - fucking purrs against his lips in more sultry a fashion than any woman he’d ever known, and Brian finally surrenders and allows his eyelids to slip closed.

The last thing he sees is those emerald eyes and the glow on Stewie’s face as his world turns black yet again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmu @riachinko on Twitter ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
